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The Price of One’s Soul

He hemmed and hawed, debating what he should do.

He had found the envelope in the gutter right next to that old bus stop in front of the park. As it happened, he was late for the bus and had seen it driving away as he rounded the street corner. In a scene right out of a movie he sprinted after it, and had even gotten close enough to spit on it, but the yellow traffic boat did not yield to the will of his expectoration potential.

Frustration seizing him, he closed his eyes and breathed out a tired, weary old sigh. His shoulders slumped, putting his face at just the right angle to see what lay in the gutter a few feet away: an envelope full to bursting with…something.

He knew what it was before even picking it up. He wasn’t sure why he knew, but felt sure it had something to do with the fact that he had just missed his bus. Fate, the gods, literature, what have you, all told him that this envelope would have money in it. A lot of money.

Apparently five-hundred dollars, in twenties. Not a huge amount, but coincidentally exactly what he owed in rent, and exactly what he had been going to earn by getting on that bus.

Of course.

He had always been an honest man, and upon picking it up and sifting through the bills, his feet propelled him automatically in the direction where his goodness could be fulfilled: the police station, just a few blocks over. But with each step, uncertainty over his initial decision grew, and the temptations began their assault.

His mind went over all the possible things this money could do for him. With rent out of the way, he could pay off some of his credit card debt and put the rest in savings…responsible, boring things that only mature adults would think to do. But wouldn’t a mature adult also know it was best to be honest and be a respectable, honorable citizen?

If he were young and foolish, this situation would not be a dilemma, but a glorious opportunity to obtain five-hundred dollars’ worth of fluff and nonsense. He wouldn’t have thought twice about it. Now he was thinking dozens of times.

What if this money was a reward from heaven? A tender mercy from God, a blessing meant for him? As opposed to a test of his moral fiber, which it very well could be. Well, perhaps if he passed the test, he WOULD get a heavenly reward. Maybe at the police station they’d just let him keep it…or maybe there was something else, something even better around the corner if he did the right thing in this moment.

The police station was in sight, just another block down, and this is when his mind began to consider his situation should he turn in the money. Visions of despair, of being evicted, of losing access to his kids seeped into his brain, clouding it like disturbed silt at the bottom of a lake. It was as if the money itself was tempting him, wanting a new master, a parasite in need of a host.

He got as far as a few feet into the police station before he stopped, clutching the envelope in one hand, nervously fidgeting. He didn’t realize how conspicuous he looked, the only person in the lobby, lost in the contours of his own moral mind as he rocked back and forth, starting to move, then stopping, jerking his head, hesitating, practically forgetting to breathe.

The clerk at the desk had been watching him since he entered the station. It was an amusing sight, and she smiled. She had a pretty good idea of what was going on. She’d seen envelopes like that many times, and she knew how to handle them.

“Can I help you, sir?” she said to him eventually.

This had the effect of making his situation public, and people are always more honest when out in the open and where others can see. As it turned out, this is exactly what the man needed to make those last few steps up to the desk.

“I found this money in the gutter over by the bus stop by the park a few blocks down,” he said, breathing and grateful that someone had helped him make the right decision. “On 12^th Street.”

“Well, we appreciate your honesty,” the clerk said with a smile.

For a second the man thought, hoped that after thanking him they’d renege and say he had earned the contents of the envelope by being so honest. But—

“We’ll do our best to make sure this goes back to the owner,” said the clerk, still smiling.

The man, though disappointed, was grateful even so that the ordeal was over, and he had made the right decision. The pressure was off him, and on his way out he walked with a much lighter step. Now to go out there and find his fortune anew.

My soul isn’t worth five-hundred dollars, he thought proudly to himself as he left.

The clerk, meanwhile, right after the door had swung shut, glanced quickly around, withdrew the money from the envelope, and stuffed the bills into her pocket. The envelope went right into the waste bin beneath the desk.

And the world continued to spin as if nothing had changed at all.